D3: Vorhonn The Red-Handed
by Streifen0-1
Summary: A master thief plans the ultimate heist as he is pursued by both the High Constable of Brennor and the Thieves' Guild. Surrounded by determined enemies and unsavory allies, this wily rogue needs to use every trick and trap in his arsenal to steal a king's ransom in treasure... Rated T for now, may change to M later...


**Vorhonn The Red-Handed**

**AN:** _I know there's many of you waiting for me to update COD:Ghosts/The Desert Tigers and I will be doing that soon. Just had a minor writer's block and someone deleted the file I had my research on for that story. Anyways, I recently picked up Diablo III and been mercilessly abusing the hell out of my PS3. So, yeah, I'm writing another fanfic based on my love for this series and Dungeons & Dragons. Also, this is for my pal Bishou no Marina and the wonderful work she's doing on 'Huntress Rising'. So please kick back, relax, grab your favorite brew 'n enjoy this story!_

Many in the taverns and the different chapter houses of the Thieves' Guild said it was impossible to break into the Royal Treasury of Brennor. It was housed in the fortress-like ashram called Lyseria Valeth whose walls withstood many a siege. It could not be scaled because they were canted at a steep angle. The City Watch manned the towers at all hours of the day and night. They patrolled the halls and grounds around Lyseria Valeth. Their ranks were filled by the best warriors in the kingdom and are well-versed in the ways of steel. Experts with sword, shield, axe, and spear few could best them in single combat. If that didn't deter an ambitious thief then maybe the rumors of the vaults themselves being haunted by flesh-eating spirits would. The greybeards in the Guild decreed that the Royal Treasury of Brennor was off-limits to all its members since infiltrating Lyseria Valeth was impossible. That and the Thieves' Guild of Sanctuary had an agreement with both Earl Tilgar and the High Constable to not upset the local economy. It would be bad for business said the greybeards.

That didn't intimidate Vorhonn the Red-Handed. As a freelancer he wasn't a member of the weak-willed Thieves' Guild. He didn't care much for men-at-arms and took pleasure in beheading them with his vorpal sword, Liege-Killer. As for man-eating ghosts, well, he had something for those punks too. When you're a master thief you always came prepared for the job at hand.

Vorhonn the Red-Handed peered through a brass spyglass at the ashram down below. He noted the patrols of the City Watch as they marched back and forth on the grounds. He also took note of the craftsmen, merchants, and wenches entering or leaving Lyseria Valeth. The master thief wrote all these notes in a small leather-bound book with an eagle-feathered quill and a bottle of black ink. When Vorhonn was finished, he placed the spyglass and book into a canvas haversack. Then he walked over to his horse.

He swung onto the saddle with ease. Vorhonn rode a blue roan gelding with a white blaze down its face. Atop the horse, the master thief cut a dashing figure. His riding boots were made of the finest leather, knee-high and hand-tooled. Underneath his hooded black velvet cloak, Vorhonn wore a shirt of chainmail. Its links were masterfully crafted from mithril. For extra protection he also wore studded leather armor that was black in color too. Vorhonn's longsword, Liege-Killer, rode on his left hip while his dagger, Mage-Skinner, was belted on his right. In the saddle holster was a repeating crossbow and a quarrel of razor-sharp, barbed arrows. If anyone tried to waylay him on the open roads, the master thief would collect a bloody toll from them.

After a millennia of winters past, Vorhonn was still young for a second-generation Nephalem. He had the height and muscle of his father, a noble who was once the King's Champion and Captain of the Guard in Khanduras. He inherited his mother's insight and shoulder-length raven hair. His mother was a gifted healer who met his father on the battlefield. Love can develop in the strangest places, he thought to himself. Thank the heavens that I just prefer to bed the fairer sex and leave 'em in the morning.

As he made his way back into town, he felt a slight tug on his shoulder. Vorhonn turned to his right to find a small, reclining devil sprite smoking hokum weed in rolling paper. Annoyed, Vorhonn's bright eyes crackled with arcane energy and a small rain cloud drenched the devil sprite who immediately yelped out obscenities. The master thief flicked the devil sprite off his shoulder and into the side of a passing wagon.

No one riding or walking past witnessed this exchange. All went about their business as the black-clad Nephalem dusted off his cloak. The tiny devil sprite had smoke billowing out of his ears. Vorhonn chuckled to himself as he continued on to the Roasted Boar tavern where he was meeting the rest of his party. The devil sprite hovered in front of his face gesturing wildly with his miniature arms.

"What in the seven _freaking _hells did you do that for, you half-breed bastard?!", shrieked the devil sprite.

Vorhonn smirked at him. "Listen here you half-pint pissant! I told you before that Brennorian law specifically forbade the use of hokum weed. Although they can't see you, the City Watch can smell the hokum weed on me! You keep this up, Smoky, and I'll use some alchemy and change you into a chicken. There are plenty of hungry beggars in the slums who can use a snack!" The master thief made some half-hearted clucking noises and flapped his arms as if he would fly away. The scene drew some curious glances from the nearby townsfolk. Many had amused looks on their faces but others took their children then hustled off into the opposite direction. They didn't want to deal with yet another crazy foreigner.

"Alright, alright you made your point. So how are 'ya going to bust into the treasury?" Smoky licked his lips in anticipation. He wondered if they had any cool enchanted loot so he could at least buy his way into the infernal nobility. A grand dukedom would be nice. Maybe somewhere along the Stygian riverside…

The master thief stopped by the nearest hitching post, dismounted, and then tied the reins of the horse to it. He turned to Smoky who was still dreaming of an obsidian palace filled with slaves and treasure beyond imagination.

"I'm going to discuss it with my partners over a mug of ale. You can't plan a robbery when you're thirsty. Go make yourself useful. See if the High Constable and the City Watch can be suitably indisposed for the next couple of days."

"Gotcha boss.", Smoky flew away on his two stubby bat-wings, his pointed tail swishing in the air. Vorhonn knew that Smoky would have more than half the City Watch running in circles for as long as was necessary. It would be more than enough to empty Brennor's exchequer and fill his purse with gold. Vorhonn started for the Roasted Boar's entrance 'til he noticed that the streets were empty. He placed a hand on his longsword's pommel.

A group of surly looking men blocked his path. He noted at least a dozen with another dozen lying in wait nearby. Their armor was a mish-mash of boiled leather, quilted, and even some chainmail but all in ill-repair. They were armed with knives, swords, and pikes. Vorhonn yawned and made a show of covering his mouth with a gloved hand. As a freelancer he didn't enjoy the Guild's protection but he also didn't pay the requisite kickback to the greybeards. Vorhonn was a wanted man by a dozen different monarchs as well as the Guild. He glanced at the group and knew right away these were the typical bravos sent to teach him a lesson. _These peasants never learn,_ he thought to himself_, there's a reason why I'm called the Red-Handed._

The thugs parted and a shaggy-maned, hulking brute carrying a spiked club lumbered forward towards Vorhonn. His muscles bulged underneath a stained tunic. The brute gave the master thief a feral smile that exposed teeth filed into jagged fangs. Vorhonn's nose took in the fact that this hairy cretin before him probably never took a bath. The enforcer's body odor was noxious.

"Are you the brigand they call Vorhonn?" The brute smirked, fully confident of his own abilities and the company of his fellow guild members behind him.

Vorhonn reached into his purse threw out a gold coin with King Leoric's profile stamped on its face. "I'm busy right now gentlemen. Buy yourselves a drink on my coin then boast how you drove the Red-Handed bastard out of Brennor. There's no profit in your deaths. The greybeards won't even remember your names. Let's leave each other be."

The brute waved a massive paw forward and a short, ferret-like merchant rolled out a parchment. Vorhonn saw that it bore the golden seal of the Thieves' Guild. The merchant cleared his throat once then began his proclamation. Vorhonn rolled his eyes once. Damn the greybeards and their pompous traditions!

"Vorhonn the Red-Handed, you have been sentenced to death by order of the guild's Grey Council for failure to register yourself as a member in good standing and failure to pay the requisite tithe to practice said trade. The penalty is to be meted out immediately." As soon as he finished making the announcement, the merchant ducked into a nearby brothel and bolted the door shut. He wanted no part of the slaughter that followed next.

"Well, so much for diplomacy. It never solved the world's ills through flowery speech anyway." Vorhonn smiled as he threw out the grenades that he had palmed as the guilders wasted his time yakking. The master thief preferred settling his problems with steel…

The grenades were custom-made from some plans he pilfered from a demon hunter. The five-second fuse hissed as they bounced off the cobblestones and among the bravos sent to kill him. When they burst, a sulfuric yellow gas billowed forth that caused the majority of the thieves to fall to their knees and gasping for air. Those who were exposed felt their flesh bubble then melt. Hardened men reduced to mewling victims in mere seconds as Vorhonn unsheathed both Liege-Killer and Mage-Skinner. His eyes gleamed with disturbing joy.

A pikeman rushed him as Vohonn parried the blade of a cut-purse trying to gut him. Vorhonn twisted out of the pikeman's thrust as he stabbed Mage-Skinner into the cut-purse's forehead. Mage-Skinner flashed once and left a charred corpse as wisps of the man's wretched soul was violently sucked into its jeweled hilt. The master thief ran Liege-Killer through the pikeman's back easily piercing both armor and flesh. He used his boot to free his vorpal sword as more enraged guilders filled the streets.

He swung Liege-Killer in a wide arc that decapitated one bravo as he tried to hamstring the master thief. Mage-Skinner slashed the throat of another; crimson spurts of arterial spray filled the air as Vorhonn the Red-Handed continued his murderous spree. An arrow missed Vorhonn's eye by inches who returned the favor by throwing Mage-Skinner at the offending archer. The vampiric knife slammed into the archer's right eye socket as his body was engulfed in unholy flame. Only the skull remained as a pile of ashes marked where the man once stood.

The mob stopped in its tracks, unsure of what to do next. None of their leaders on the Grey Council said a word that warned them about magic or magical weapons. The rank-and-file guilders wanted to be alive to spend the ten-thousand gold crown bounty. The smarter thieves were already fading back into the alleys and shadows. They already seen for themselves that the rumors regarding the Red-Handed were not mere tavern tales.

Vorhonn sheathed his vorpal sword after retrieving Mage-Skinner from the archer's skull. He looked towards the crowd in front of him and sighed. Patrons from The Roasted Boar's tavern peered from windows and some even stepped out into the street to witness the fight. Many still had mugs of ale and mead in their hands. All were in awe of the fighting prowess of the black-clad adventurer.

"Clearly gentlemen you are out-classed. Take my coin and spare yourselves. This is a pointless exercise, which exhausts my patience. What do you say, hmmm?" Vorhonn wrapped his black velvet cloak around him as he said this.

Shouts rose from the crowd as the brute charged forward with his spiked club. Half the brute's face was melted off and red burns could be seen on his exposed arms. Blinded by fury the mad enforcer swung his club at Vorhonn's head which swished through empty air. The master thief thrust out a masterwork Reavers Slinglock-Six which fired twice.

The first adamantine bolt blew out the brute's right knee which caused the giant to stumble onto the ground. The second bolt pierced the brute's left shoulder then exploded. Chunks of flesh and bone peppered the crowd who shrieked with horror. The maimed brute was now flat on his back, his face now white in shock. Vorhonn slowly walked up to the dying guilder and pointed the slinglock revolving bolt-thrower at the brute's head.

"When you see the ferryman, tell him that it was Vorhonn the Red-Handed who sent you to hell. And that there will be thousands more to follow…"

The master thief squeezed the trigger twice more finishing off the guild's chief enforcer here in Brennor. The mob of the guild's rank-and-file scurried off the streets. They had enough of the freelancer's keen blades. One paused long enough to collect the gold coin Vorhonn tossed out earlier. The patrons from the tavern already filed back inside for more carousing. Satisfied that the guilders wouldn't return for more bloodshed, Vorhonn hefted his Reavers Slinglock-Six and entered the tavern to meet with his partners. It was going to be a long night.


End file.
